


The Tribe

by CharlieMuskrat



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMFs, Boy on Boy Sex, Coming Out, Consensual Underage Sex, Dark, First Time, Gay/Loving Relationships, Graphic Descriptions Male Nudity, M/M, M/M/M, Male Bonding, Masturbation/Mutual & Group, More plot, Novella, Plot, Post-Apocalyptic Survival, Sexual Experimetation, Still More Plot, Varied Sex Acts, graphic depictions of sex, h/c, new society
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMuskrat/pseuds/CharlieMuskrat
Summary: During the attack on the prison and immediately after the death of the Governor, Carl becomes separated from his father Rick and the rest of the group. Escaping the bloody chaos, the fourteen-year-old finds he is on his own as he tries to reconnect with his family. Bad becomes worse when the boy is captured and held prisoner by a man who intends to use him as walker bait. When Carl does find help, it comes from an unexpected source, a group of kids calling themselves The Tribe. Rejecting all adults save for an elderly American Indian they call Grandfather, the children have learned to not only care for themselves effectively, they have developed a unique and surprisingly orderly and functional post-apocalyptic society. For Carl his rescue is not only a saving grace, but a journey of self-discovery. Able to be a kid again the boy comes to a shocking realization. He thinks he has fallen in love with a fifteen-year-old member of the tribe. While that alone may not have surprised young Carl, the fact that it's an aggressive boy named Seneca leaves him so confused he now questions everything he thought he knew about himself and the man he wants to become.





	1. Flight For Life

**Author's Note:**

>   1. I write this after the ill-conceived and poorly executed decision by the producers of TWD to kill off Carl. It only goes to show that you can have creative genius and still be a moron. 
>   2. This work is set immediately following the events of SEASON 4, EPISODE 8, GONE TOO FAR. It follows fourteen-year-old CARL GRIMES through an alternate storyline of what happens to him after the battle for the prison and the death and destruction therein. The SLASH notwithstanding, it otherwise does not break from CANON. 
>   3. When I create ORIGINAL CHARACTERS I like to provide pictures that are representational of what I envision for the part. As such, my stories have links to pictures that will give you the "flavor" of what a particular character looks like. Hey, it's how I write the character so you might as well see what's in my head. 
>   4. In my real life I am a retired screen and teleplay writer and as such borrow (sparingly) from that medium's normal format for the sake of my various shortcomings as a novel writer and to protect my questionable sanity. 
>   5. If you are interested, [Click Here](https://www.yanagaypress.com/write) for something of a PREFACE as to WHY I WRITE WHAT I WRITE AND HOW I WRITE IT. Someone once Tweeted me that _"fanfic is crap"_. My reply: "Thank you, I shall endeavor then to at least write good crap!" 
> 

> 
> * * *

##  CHAPTER 1  
Flight For Life 

**LEAD/MAJOR ROLES CAST LIST**  
Click on any name to see a photo representation for that character  
MINOR ROLE CAST LISTS will appear at the beginning of each chapter  
(you will need to click on the TWEET to open the full pic once you are in TWITTER) 

  * [Carl Grimes, M, 14yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1034980336575234049?s=20)
  * [Seneca Luther, M, 15yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036002790399664129?s=20)
  * [T.K Arliss, M, 15yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036003067601113088?s=20)
  * [Linus Garrow, M, 16yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036003405355835392?s=20)
  * [Jadren Garrow, M, 13,yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036003625682722816?s=20)
  * [Dartengen Schmidt, M, 16yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036004102726021120?s=20)
  * [Michael Ocho,M, 14yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036004896200318976?s=20)
  * [Kyle Radshaw, M, 15yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036004304442646529?s=20)
  * [Tiger, M, 10yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036004487763120128?s=20)
  * [Grandfather, M, 77yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036004628146475008?s=20)



**EXTERIOR: THE WOODS JUST OUTSIDE THE PRISON - DAY**

Away. Run. Don't stop. Those were the only thoughts he would allow himself. Nothing else, just run away and don't stop. Though, with each fall of his footsteps there was considerable competition to break his concentration. The smell of smoke. That was the prison burning. The sounds of screams and the intermittent pop of gunfire. That meant people were fighting to stay alive and ultimately failing. The sight, the memory of his father, beaten and bleeding, barely able to walk. Rick Grimes yelling for him to run. Run and don't stop. Escape the prison, he would find him. Carl would not let anything distract him or slow him down. His father had taught him well, how to survive. To be strong, to be disciplined and to always act first and act fast. 

The boy stayed off the paths they had, over time, worn into the woods. The Governor's men might be out here as well, waiting in ambush for any who tried to escape, though he really didn't think it likely. There were a lot of them, but not enough to surround the entire prison and still have enough bodies to fight. At least that's how it looked when it all started. But things went south quick. They killed Hershal, drove a tank through the gate and then all hell broke loose. But none of that mattered now. The mantra repeated again, over and over in his head. Away. Run. Don't stop. 

Using both hands, he pushed his way through the underbrush with a none-to-graceful desperation. Several times he tripped or lost his footing and fell, face-first into the unforgiving red earth of the central Georgia woodlands. Each time he would pick himself up and continue on. He didn't care that he was making enough noise to rival a charging moose, stealth was not the goal. Distance and speed, those were the only things of any importance, and so he pressed on. 

**CUT TO:**

**EXT. THE WOODS, SEVERAL HOURS LATER - NIGHT**

Carl, exhausted and emotionally drained, had curled up in a ball at the base of a large sycamore tree. He had run for hours and was now miles away from where he started his day, waking up in the cell he had called home for nearly a year. Twenty-four hours later his whole world had changed. At first he was unable to sleep the boy simply lay in the dark, hungry and alone. Finally, after more hours pass, he fell into a fitful sleep. 

He dreamed of Hershal. The man who had saved his life after taking a friendly fire bullet to the gut. The same man who took his family in and offered them sanctuary on his farm. Hershal who would often read to him from the bible or teach him things his father could not. And then that terrible moment when the Governor cut off his... 

Morning breaks which brings Carl out of his semi-sleep with a start. Sitting bolt upright he instinctually reaches for the silenced pistol in its holster. It's not there. The memories of the battle the day before come flooding back. He remembers he lost his pistol, that special friend just after the tank fired its first round into the raised walkway spanning between two of the cell blocks. The blast had knocked him off his feet and, in the process his gun, "Andy" went clattering. Already armed with a Winchester 30-30, he didn't have the time to retrieve the semi-automatic handgun. But, when the rifle was out of ammunition he had had to abandon that as well. Now the only weapon he had was his hunting knife with a seven inch blade. 

Beginning to hyperventilate as he tries to fight off the horrors that have come screaming back into his brain, Carl jumps up and once again begins to run. After several hundred yards he rapidly tires and has to slow down. He body is demanding food, and more importantly, water. He slows to a jog, the trees begin to thin. Things begin to get a little brighter around him. He can see a clearing of sorts up ahead. The trees are giving way to what looks like a field of tall grass appearing to grow brown for lack of moisture. 

Slowing even more, the boy comes to a stop behind one of the last remaining trees large enough for him to hide behind. Breathing hard he drops to his knees and grabs the trunk of the tree for support. He surveys the area ahead. 

It looks like a farm. Or at least farm land. The boy thinks back to Hershal's place and then to the Governor slicing off his head with Machone's katana, the dull thud it must have made as it landed in the dirt. He shakes his head to clear the recurring vision that keeps haunting him. There are no structures in sight, no barns, no sheds or farm houses. Just a field of what was probably once hay that seems to stretch from miles. Suddenly something catches his eye. A glint of light off metal. Squinting, he can make out a slight shadow streaking across the field and the fast movement of light. It's a road, most likely a highway and either a car or truck is driving slowly along it's path. 

Carl takes a deep breath and drops the rest of the way so that he is now sitting next to the tree. He has to take stock. He needs to have a plan. He can't get too far from the prison, otherwise there will be no way for his dad or any of the others to find him. Not even Daryl would be able to track him this far out. Maybe, if he could make his way out to that road he would be able to find signs that would take him back towards either the state prison or the town of Woodbury. However things turned out back there, at least he would know where he was and have a much better chance of finding someone from his side of the war. 

Standing, he takes a look back into the trees and tries to puzzle out if he is making the right decision. What would his dad do? What would Michone think? When no answer comes to him he lets out a sigh and steps forward, out into the brilliant sunshine. 

**CUT TO:**

Carl, stripped of his shirt in the morning heat, walks along the road constantly scanning for signs of walkers who might be hanging about or, the more dangerous threat, a car driving up from behind and catching him unaware. Every thirty seconds or so he looks back while keeping an ear out for any sounds that shouldn't be out here in the middle of nowhere. The morning passes without incident. Surprisingly he didn't even come across any emaciated walkers or signs of dead and rotting ones. 

Around lunch time (so his stomach said) he spots a road sign up ahead and, printed out in bold red and black letters, it proclaims: Cavinaugh Concrete Plant Next Right. Stopping at the sign and ever the scavenger, Carl thinks this place might have any number of things he needs. Water, perhaps some food and maybe even a vehicle of some sort he can get running. Daryl taught him how to hotwire a car if you could find one where the gasoline hadn't turned and the battery still held enough of a charge. Reaching the turn off the boy discovers a gravel road leading down a winding course and then around the other side of a ridge of small hills. From this vantage point he can't see the plant. 

He reaches back and pulls at the tail of his t-shirt which had been tucked into his right back pants pocket. Taking off his trademark hat, he snaps his head sharply left causing his long brown hair to clear his equally brown eyes. He then uses the shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. The way down to the concrete works appears as clear as the roadway so he decides to chance the detour. His luck had to change sometime. 

**CUT TO:**

Coming around the hills, it took him nearly an hour to walk there, Carl finds that the cement "plant" is not at all what he had expected. Instead of a large building that makes somehow makes concrete, he discovers that the plant is actually a gravel pit with several long conveyor belts that feed into a modest-sized red brick building. The building has a dock, six platforms where, presumably the mixing trucks receive the various ingredients and then drive off to their destination. All hope not gone, he does see what looks to be a small office trailer just inside the fenced in area that butts up against the surrounding hills that form the water-filled pit of the quarry. 

He looks for dangers, both the obvious and the possible.. There are no vehicles in sight, no cars and no cement mixing trucks. Someone must have come and taken them away. The fence is intact and the gate is closed, no walkers are moving about inside the compound and none are at the fences. If people were staying here, there would be walkers outside. Everything seems quiet and peaceful. 

"Bum-fuck Egypt," Carl whispers to himself. Suddenly he bursts out laughing. He's trying to understand the epithet. Are you proclaiming to fuck the bum of Egypt or is it a place in Egypt where anal sex is widely practiced... so much so that they gave it a name. He wished his friend Patrick was still alive. They would have had a good time pondering its meaning in great and graphic detail. 

**CUT TO:**

Carl puts his shirt back on, just in case, and manages to scale the high chain-link fence without getting stabbed by the pointy top-cuts or falling and breaking his neck. He makes a quick tour of the grounds and, without a gun, goes about the tricky process of clearing the office trailer. It's clear of walkers and even better, he has hit pay dirt. Not only did he find a candy and salty snack vending machine, but a soda machine as well. Both are full and, using the legs of a metal folding chair no longer in possession of their treasures. He sits in the middle of the room surrounded by candy and corn-nuts wrappers while working on his second warm but delicious Mountain Dew. 

The office is tidy (save for the broken chair and several chunks of recently murdered vending machines) and looks as if the employees are only out for lunch, their work waiting for them to return. Apparently no one was interested in coming back here and after locking the outside gate for the last time.. 

After thirty minutes of eating and drinking and no longer able to stand the stifling heat inside the office, Carl struggles to find his feet, belching loudly for the effort. He then goes about the room opening windows to let in some air. He didn't get much sleep last night and now with a full stomach his body is making demands. The exhausted boy goes to a respectable looking couch in a small back office and lays down. He falls asleep almost immediately. 

**CUT TO:**

**EXT. THE GRAVEL PIT - LATER THAT AFTERNOON**

Carl feels a sense of peace and safety as he walks towards the large, irregular shaped pit of the cement works. Fenced in and fairly certain no walkers are about, he begins to think about what he needs to do next. His stomach is full, perhaps a bit too full, but the sugar high has worn off and after his nap, he's no longer running on reserves and adrenaline. He figures he should give himself a night here before heading out to find the prison in the morning. Maybe he can find some tools to fashion into weapons. He's going to need something more than his hunting knife. 

He arrives at the edge of the man-made pit, much larger than a pond, yet not quite able to fulfill the qualifications of a lake. The company must have been in business a long time for them to have dug this much into the Georgia bedrock. He looks at the water for a few moments and then reaches down dipping in his hands. It feels cool and refreshing. At least cooler than the ninety four degree afternoon sun that's still hours from setting. He is amazed at how clear the water is. He can see the bottom as it slowly drops off into the dark of depth. It must be deep he thinks to himself. 

Looking to his left he sees three massive boulders, easily the size of a bulldozer huddling together where water meets land. They were probably too large to crush with the machinery when they were excavated. He walks over to the one closest to the water begins to climb. Once at the top he takes yet another look around. 

Towering high above him, about thirty feet from the pit is the framework for the largest of the conveyor belts. Higher still is a small shack, the control station for the network of suspended conveyor belts. He makes a mental note. That shack would be the safest place to sleep tonight. From there he could see the entire compound and wouldn't have to worry about walkers if they did break through the chain link or come up over the hills. 

Carl turns and looks out over the placid water. He smiles. It takes only a few moments of unbuckling his gun belt, the one holding not only his empty holster, but his knife and sheath, to become free of the burden. It falls with a clunk to the hard stone underfoot. He then walks backwards to the furthest most part of rectangular and flat boulder and readies himself. With a wide grin he counts himself down. "Three, Two... ONE!" 

The boy sprints forward taking five long strides before launching himself as far out as possible before falling with a splash into the cool water below. He stays under as long as possible, feeling the warmer water soak through his clothes and then deeper, the cooler temperature where the sun had not penetrated. It felt... wonderful. He hadn't actually gone swimming since they had camped outside Atlanta and Sean had taught him how to catch a fish with his bare hands. 

Carl begins to swim about, not straying too far from the boulders, yet far enough out to accomplish his second goal. To wash as much dirt and grime out of his clothes and hair as possible. All the thrashing about and diving underwater gave both boy and cloth a good rinsing. Suddenly he stops splashing; an idea is forming. 

**CUT TO:**

Carl is out of the water and running full steam and dripping back up the towards the office building. 

**CUT TO:**

**INT. THE OFFICE BATHROOM - MOMENTS LATER**

He rushes in, his sneakers still squishing out water, and grabs a bar of soap from atop the sink basin. He then drops to one knee and yanks open the cabinet underneath. Another gold strike. Bars of hand soap and several pump-bottles of _Orange_ degreaser. He grabs two bars and one of the orange bottles with a white hand-pump. 

**CUT TO:**

Having kicked off his shoes and at the water's edge, Carl begins to peel out of his shirt. Then, grabbing a bar of soap, he wades in waist deep and commences to scrub. Once finished he slings the shirt over his shoulders and goes about the none-too-graceful process of fighting his way out of his faded blue jeans. Soon he stands wearing only a pair of once white socks and the maroon boxer-briefs that, truth be told were a bit small on him. They looked and felt more like one of those European Spandex swimsuits gay guys and underwear models wore in the travel magazines. The advantage he reasoned; they made his "bulge" look more... substantial, an important consideration for any fourteen-year-old kid regardless of what kind of world he's growing up in. 

Washing his pants was not nearly as quick or easy. Waterlogged they became heavy and cumbersome to deal with. But, after about ten minutes, he did manage to get them full of soap and then reasonably rinsed free. Next came the socks, all the more difficult due to the fact that he now had to keep track of his pants so they didn't float away. Finished and draped with laundry, Carl makes his way back ashore and takes his time laying everything out on the sunward side of the flat-topped boulder so they could begin to dry. 

Turning, Carl pulls down at the waistband of his boxer-briefs thereby stripping himself completely naked. He looks down at his lean torso and legs as if seeing himself for the first time. In the prison where the light is only fair at best, he has not seen himself with this sort of... clarity. In the past he has bathed outdoors many times, mostly in streams or lakes, but for the past year it's been confined to the open bay prison showers. In the interest of modesty they had jury-rigged the bay with sheets and curtains which afforded some degree of privacy. 

This outdoors view was much more revealing than that of the dark prison showers or even the poor lighting in his cell. In the past year, finally, _thankfully _puberty has shown him mercy. His greatest achievement - a dark brown-practically black thatch of curls, the all-important manifestation of pubic hair. Not a lot mind you, not the developed triangle he is striving for, just a sort of diminutive Hitler mustache above the base of his penis. But it's enough to be quite pleased about. Here in the bright afternoon sun it looks positively... manly. Pride turns to disappointment when, lifting his right arm, he inspects for the telltale wisps of underarm hair and finds nothing.__

____

Walking back towards the water he steps in only a few feet and squats down as he begins to thoroughly soap up and then rinse out his underwear. Returning, that too finds a open space to dry in the hot sun. With his laundry done he once again find the waist deep water and with soap in hand washes his long brown hair which is soon followed by a leisurely bath. 

____

Back on dry land, atop the flat of the largest of the three boulders, Carl lays himself out to dry. He could use some sun anyway, his tan lines are nothing more than his face and arms. Getting a good tan in the Walker-Apocalypse is a difficult thing considering such does not lend itself much in the way of beach fashion, let alone flip-flops, shorts, and, if you're going to wear a shirt, tank-tops. 

____

Eyes closed and completely relaxed, Carl lets his mind wander as he soaks up the rays. After ten minutes or so the boy realizes that, like an arm and hand with a mind of it's own, he has been running his fingertips down the length of his body, smooth chest to left nipple, nipple down to the opposite side finding the flat abs of his equally smooth stomach, stomach around and down the outside of his tightly muscled leg and then back up again. Feeling himself up, he begins to enjoy the sensation of the slow autonomous reflex that has reached his reveals, his boyhood beginning to swell in both length and girth. 

____

Carl's learning curve with the age-old and widely practiced self-expression of masturbation had, in a word, been thus far lackluster. Sure he and his friends at school, grade school to be clear, was theoretical at best. So, when he got old enough to actually put things to the test, it was widely an issue of trial and error. Without really being sure what method to employ or what the expected result should look and feel like, he had had to work things out on his own. Such as circumstances were, his father was certainly not the kind of dad who had open and frank discussions with his son about, well, most anything and certainly not sex. His mother had taken on that duty when his baby sister Judith was on her way. They both realized that Rick was, understandably, too preoccupied with keeping everyone alive. Mom gave him the whitewashed version of the birds and the bees and when it came to things boys did when alone... a very clinical description of not the act itself (or how it could best be accomplished) but rather subsequent issues of wet dreams and why that was happening to him. 

____

At the prison he and Patrick had, on occasion, discussed the subject, but neither boy was willing to admit to the other that they actually engaged in the thoroughly disgusting and most probably perverted practice. The usual jokes about going blind or growing hair on the palm of your hand played their part, but by and large it was a non-topic. 

____

Unable or unwilling to control himself any longer Car's left hand dropped down and found the wonderfully soft curls of man-hair between his legs. It felt as it always felt, intoxicating. How the sensation of his own body could make him so horny, so desperate for the incredible jet of orgasm was beyond his comprehension. And, at this particular moment in time, it didn't matter. Suddenly the boy's eyes pop open and he hiccuped a laugh. The thought of him jerking off butt-ass naked and atop a boulder in the middle of a rock quarry in broad daylight was... ridiculous. And, in an odd sort of way, dangerously exciting. He pictures himself grunting and straining as he willed himself into shooting off, his jizz splattering on his stomach, in his pubes, and those portions that missed, dropping on the reddish stone underneath him. 

____

As if it were necessary Carl lifts his head and peers about in all directions to make sure he is still alone. Barely a whisper: "Yes!" 

____

The decision made, Carl slowly lays his head back while at the same time opening his legs wide, bending them slightly at the knee so his feet can press flat against the rock. He's not exactly sure why he likes doing it in this spread eagle position, he just knows it's better than with his legs close. Using both hands, he starts to play with everything he has to offer. His right first finds his completely smooth scrotum, the heat of the day causing it to be loose and hanging. His testicles, dropped for almost two years now were bigger than the jellybeans of his pre-pubertal youth, but not yet the cat's eye marbles he's hoping for. 

____

Fully erect to it's five inches in length, the boy's left hand grabs the shaft of his neatly circumcised penis, the head of which only slightly larger in size. His glans, usually a soft pink mushroom is now more a deep rose as he begins to alternately caress and squeeze up and down its entirety. 

____

Carl's breathing becomes harder and irregular as he starts to stroke his dick which, when hard did not point up towards his stomach, but rather stuck straight out from between his legs at a 90 degree angle. Using only thumb and two fingers his short strokes are slow and regular; along the slight banana curve of his boyhood. While this goes on, his right hand is now cupping his balls up tight against his body. Every once in a white he will gently pull the droopy sack downward, extending it as far as it can go toward his feet, just to the point of pain. It feels so good, so fucking hot, so... 

____

He opens his eyes and lifts his head to take a quick peek at himself, certain he will find what he is looking for. On the head of his joint, just at the slit is a thick dribble of viscous pre-cum, something that had only just recently started happening when he jacked himself or, when he got horny, would leak and make a small wet spot on his underwear. He had yet to dare himself to taste it, that was too gross, but he couldn't quite dismiss the thought from his mind every time he got himself wet with excitement. 

____

Not wanting to miss the show, he actually found it very arousing to, at the point of achieving his orgasm, watch the semen explode from his dick and squirt onto his body. Carl begins to pump faster and squeeze harder while the manipulation of his balls with his right hand becomes a bit more aggressive. He's getting close. Soft grunts and sporadic groans break the afternoon silence when he pulls on his sack a little to hard, this happening in fits as he tightens the muscles in his abdomen, legs and buttocks. He knows that very soon he will begin lifting his hips up off the hard stone and bucking uncontrollably in a physical effort to expel his cum. He bites the inside of his lip in an effort not to cry out. This feels so good, so open... so public and exposed. This too feeds the monster of his arousal. So close now... 

____

Suddenly, a deep male voice rudely breaks through young Carl's attempt at self-satisfaction, "What in the hellified _fuck_ are you doing?" 

____


	2. Kyle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl Gets Help...

##  CHAPTER 2  
Kyle 

[Kyle Radshaw, M, 15yo](https://twitter.com/yana_gay_press/status/1036004304442646529?s=20)  
(you will need to click on the TWEET to open the full pic) 

**INT. A SMALL WOODEN SHACK - THE QUARRY PIT - DAY**

In his perch high above the Cavinaugh cement plant, Kyle Schmidt felt decidedly uncomfortable. Twice he had lowered the telescopic scope attached to his M107 sniper rife, each time embarrassed not only for the stranger, a boy down on the rocks naked and masturbating, but for himself as well. He didn't consider himself gay, not at all. He had a girl and he had a kid; an attraction to other dudes was not in his deck of cards. Still, he couldn't help himself. Situated upon high in the conveyor control shack at the very top of the superstructure, he had a clear view of everything in and around the plant. As such, for the past twenty minutes he had been watching Carl. 

Fifteen year-old Kyle had been in the shack for over a day now and he had seen Carl come up over the fence earlier that afternoon. His friends would be arriving later that evening, well after dark, and it had been his mission to make sure that the plant remained empty for their arrival. It was a rather solitary assignment, but he didn't mind. It needed to be done and he was the best shot with a rifle, remarkably so, and therefore things like this usually fell to him. When he saw the boy coming down the road he simply watched and waited. Surely this kid wasn't out here alone and expected his "people" to eventually show up as well. It was however, odd that the boy was alone, on foot and unarmed. Maybe this was a prospect. 

For Kyle, Carl's laundry and bath routine in the pit had been no big deal, he showered with other boys all the time and saw it all. Big and floppy or diminutive and unmoving, circumcised or natural, with hair, the peach-fuzz stage or those still completely smooth, the boys of the Tribe ran the gambit. Still Kyle did not announce himself. Wait, listen and watch. That was his job. 

And so, using the Mark 4 Leupoid scope of his rife he kept tabs through the heat of the afternoon. He figured the boy had found the vending machines in the office and when he heard the crash, he smiled knowing the kid was about to have a meal. When he didn't come out again, he again assumed correctly that the stranger had fallen asleep. By the way he looked, ragged, dirty and without a weapon, he probably needed rest. The kid's stock went up considerably when he ran back to get the soap out of the bathroom to wash not only himself, but his clothes as well. Smart and an interest in good hygiene. If he was a prospect, both were good signs. 

The jerk off bit was a surprise, though he realized now it shouldn't have been. It's what teenaged boys did, himself included and on a very regular basis. Earlier that morning and in this very shack as a matter of fact. But observing another boy doing it from afar was, disconcerting. He felt somehow dirty. Like a pervert getting his jollies off watching unsuspecting boys (or girls) doing what was probably the most private solitary act a person can do. And, to his credit, he had tried looking away. Twice if he was keeping count. Once he simply put the rife down and tried to think about something else and then more recently in the interest of security. He had thought to change windows to make a visual tour of the other side of the compound. But, here he was, rifle aimed directly at the kid's crotch and watching him buck and writhe as he brought himself closer to a wet and sticky bliss. 

Kyle felt the tightness growing in his underpants. The pouch of his briefs felt full as it held his semi-erect penis in place. He didn't have a full-on boner, that would have been just too weird, but he wasn't exactly soft either. And, even more disturbing, he could feel the pronounced dampness on the left side, the direction he normally tucked when he put his briefs on. He knew he was leaking precum and he wasn't even sexually stimulated. Or if he was, he certainly wasn't going to admit it, not even to himself. 

Kyle was a handsome boy, Caucasian with short blond hair and hazel eyes he, enjoyed wholesome features that made him somewhat distracting to look at. One glance and girls and boys alike would be given slight pause as they reasoned out how easily he could be smiling and dancing about on a television commercial for back-to-school clothes. He was slim in an decidedly athletic way and, if you were lucky enough to see him with his shirt off, you could count the ripples chiseled into his abdomen. Though he was the right height and had a svelte build for his fifteen years, his boyish face made him look somewhat younger. 

Up in the shack and with the afternoon sun at its highest point, Kyle had long since abandoned the jungle green camo shirt and the t-shirt underneath leaving him in only his military fatigue pants and black leather hiking boots. Large beads of sweat glistened on his completely smooth torso though, even from a short distance you could see the dark shadow of growth of black hair under each arm. Kyle hadn't developed early necessarily, it's just when he did get auxiliary hair it came in fast and full. His pubic bush was just as dark and thick, certainly much more so than the boy masturbating below him, and he found it somewhat odd to have no real hair anywhere else on his body, but in those placed he did, it was lush and visually outstanding. 

Kyle adjusted first the rifle's tripod resting on the ledge of the open window so he could see better and then the position of his penis pressing against the cotton fabric of his tighty whitey underwear. There was really no stopping it now, he was about to get throbbing rock hard and the hormones plus adrenaline coursing through his veins wasn't allowing him to think reasonably. Almost unconsciously his left hand drops down and begins to fumble with the green plastic buttons on the fly of his pants. Seconds later he stands slightly bent over at the widow, camos down around his ankles, underwear at his knees. 

Past the point of no return Kyle's hand feels its way into the forest of tangled black curls before finding the thick, leftward curved shaft of his cleanly cut penis. Nearly seven inches and length, considerable for a boy his age, he slides his hand forward to get a dribble of precum onto his fingers. Working it over the glans, he tries to spread his knees further apart in an effort to allow his aching balls to swing back and forth freely when he does begin to grip and stroke. Usually he spits and jacks or lubes up first, but with him leaking like a faulty water hose, there is enough for this action and then some. 

Kyle makes a quick adjustment on his rife scope, watching closely as both of Carl's hands work feverishly to bring himself off. Even from this distance the 14x50 power lens makes it appear as if he too is down there on the rocks, right next to the publicly available masturbator. Unnaturally, two disconnected thoughts come to Kyle as he tries to match the younger boy's stroking rhythm. First, he comes to the shocking realization that he wishes he too was doing this out in public. Not necessarily with the boy, but he's not exactly sure he wouldn't mind that either. Not to watch really, just to do it where others might be watching him, maybe even the other kid looking over at him occasionally, And, if that wasn't out of character enough, Kyle is making an effort to study the other boy's technique. He knew all of his friends jacked hard and heavy, everyone talked an awful lot about it, but none of his close friends had ever compared notes, nor had he ever really thought about it. This wasn't really a sexual thought, it was more... in the interest of research. 

And that was when poor Kyle could hold off no longer. It was just too much of a sensory exploration. Kyle, through clenched teeth, groans softly as he feels the buildup tenses and then begins an un-apologetic and messy orgasm. Copious ropes of thick white jizz squirt out, splattering against the wall under the sill of the window. He wanted this to last longer, to hold off, maybe even cum when the other boy started to shoot, but the release arrived without warning and had an unexpected in intensity to it. Not wanting it to end, Kyle uses the slippery residue of his climax to continue rubbing himself even after the forceful eruptions had subsided. 

Suddenly, through the fog of post orgasmic glory, Kyle sees a flash of white cut across his circular field of vision through the telescopic view. Pulling his head back from the scope he peers down at the rocks below. The realization hits him like a brick to the forehead. While he and the kid were enjoying a solitary yet mutual jerk, they had both been caught unaware. Someone, no, two someones have entered the plant and are now standing on either side of the rock which Carl is on. 

**CUT TO:**

Carl snaps his eyes open while grabbing for the knife still in its sheath on his gun belt less than a foot away. The process was somewhat slower than it should have been as he still needed one hand to try and cover what he could of his engorged reveals. Too surprised to be mortified at being caught in such an embarrassing position, his desire to stay alive was still tempered by modesty. 

"Well would you looky here!" The male voice said with what could only be a sort of joyful taunting. "Angel, we done found us a sawed-off little pervert pulling his wiener right out here in front of god and anyone else willing to walk by." 

Carl, with knife in hand looked to his right and saw the interloper, a man of about twenty five or so. He was tall, lanky and looked in serious need of both a dentist and a bath. If he wasn't going to shave the uneven patch of stash and beard, he ought to at least fashion it into some sort of goatee. He was wearing ragged jeans and a shirt two sizes too big which, in effect, made him look even more gaunt. To Carl's first impression, he actually looked like a walker, this one able to talk. 

A high pitched and tittering female laugh comes from the other side of the rock. "We sure did and if that aint a small pecker for a boy of any age! Give it up sonny, you're in trouble with any gal you hook up with and that's certain. In your particular case, size do matter! 

Both the man and woman explode in laughter at Carl's expense. He can't believe this has happened. Not only did he get caught masturbating, he let his guard down in the process. He hazards a quick glance over at the woman, keeping the knife between himself and the man down on the ground below. Not that either is a real threat as of yet, but from this perch above he can't see their hands. Hopefully they don't have guns. His brain goes into overdrive looking for avenues of escape, with or without his clothes. 

The woman, Angel, gives the naked boy a smirk and nods her head in his direction. "He's got himself a knife Dwayne." She pronounces it _Dee-Wayne_. 

The man's attitude darkens somewhat. "I can see that. Yes, he has a knife." Dwayne is annoyed. Angel always talks to him like he aint got no sense at all. He raises his right hand slowly and as it comes into view Carl sees the chrome-plated, six shot, snub-nosed revolver. 

Carl sucks in a breath as he estimates the distance between him Dwayne. If he's going to act, it has to be now. 

"I see it in yer eyes boy. Don't you test me none. I'll shoot you stone dead and that's the fact of it. You just set still and answer a few questions and we just might leave you be." 

"Tell him to put that knife down." Angel instructs. Sometimes Dwayne forgets the most important things and if it weren't for her they would both be the worse off. "And don't give him his clothes just yet. He aint' gonna run off stark naked." 

Dwayne rolls his eyes. Typical Angel. "Don't you be tellin' me!" To Carl: "You just put that sticker down and hop your ass off that rock. We're gonna have us a talk." 

"My clothes," Carl demands. It wasn't a question or a request. 

Dwayne regards the boy for a moment, wondering if he shoot a bullet at him, just to make his point. "You do as your told and maybe I'll give you them there clothes back. Or, if you continue to be obstinate, I may give considerable thought to settin' fire to 'em." 

Angel speaks up again. We know who really runs the show. "Get down, kid. You can put your unders back on, but not the rest. Not till you answer a few questions." 

Carl, still unwilling to move, takes a deep breath. Something is better than nothing, but he doesn't want to give up the high ground. At least up here he had some distance and... Without warning Dwayne fires his gun. 

Dwayne had come up with the bright idea that by firing his gun at the boy's feet, it would scare the kid enough to get him to come down. As it turned out it wasn't a "bright idea" at all, but it would be his last idea. Before the echo of his shot could stop ringing across the water Dwayne's head explodes in a bloody mass of bone, scraggly hair and brain matter. The .50 caliber round from Kyle's sniper rifle struck with textbook precision, just below the tip of his nose. The supersonic speed of the round caused the man's head to envelope inward and then out again, all without knocking him off his feet. It took a full two seconds for his headless corpse to realize he was dead and finally fall to the ground. 

Eyes wide in incomprehensible shock, Angel swings her shotgun up, first to Carl and then realizing the boy couldn't have shot "her man", someone else had to be close by. She spins and begins to fire blindly in various directions. Jacking each new shell into the pump-action Winchester Defender, she fires the fifth round before she too joins Dwayne as a gory, headless body lying at the base of Masturbation Rock. 

Kyle looks up from the site searches for his charge and prospect. Carl is no longer atop the rock, instead he is lying on the ground, writhing about, both hands covering his face. There is blood seeping between his fingers. The boy sniper springs into action. Turning, he snatches at a load bearing harness that is hanging from the back of an old wooden chair. Aside from a holstered pistol, k-bar knife and several clips of ammo, there is a small black walkie-talkie with an odd shaped antennae. Extracting the corded microphone from harness he keys the radio to life.. 

Calm and measured Kyle speaks into the radio as he moves about the room collecting his gear. "Ranger-1 declaring. Request hot evac, immediate. Two hostile down, one prospect injured. Over. 

Almost immediately a female voice comes back to him over the comm net. While clipped and professional, this voice is full of intensity and tension. "Ranger-1, copy hot evac, we're spinning up now. Say your status. Over." 

Kyle continues to load himself up. He has put on both t-shirt and uniform camo as well as the gear harness. He has slung his Barrett over his left should and over his right another rifle, this one a shortened version of the M16. He grabs a green canvas army tote by its handles and yanks open the door, speaking into the mic as he goes. "I'm okay Olivia. Get me evac with a med-tech now. I have a prospect down and bleeding. Both of my hostiles are off the field, unknown if I have additional on the way to my location." 

Kyle pushes through the door to the shack and, going to the metal rung ladder tosses his army tote down to the first conveyor level. He then begins to climb down from his nest, the rifles clattering together in his haste. The radio once again comes to life. The female's voice, known as Olivia is less strained. "Copy Ranger-1. Hot evac en route will advise ETA." 

Bag in hand Kyle makes quick work of the rung ladder and is now sprinting across one convey belt and, in a mighty leap, jumps down to the next one below. He then works a zig-zag as he cuts back to get to the gentle slope of the last conveyor, this one taking him right to the water's edge. In less than a minute thirty he has descended from the control shack and is now running full steam toward the rocks. He can see that the boys is still moving... and there is more blood. His neck and upper chest are streaked bright red. 

**CUT TO:**

As Kyle gets closer, Carl hears his boots pounding the hard-packed earth. Still covering his face he begins to kick wildly in the direction of the footfalls. There is panic in his high-pitch. "Get away from me! Get away!" 

Kyle comes to a stop a few feet away, drop the tote and works to unsling both of his rifles. He lets them drop easily to the ground. Next he takes a quick survey of the surrounding area to make sure no one else has shown up. Apparently these two were on their own. He looks down again at the naked boy who is still kicking, but with much less venom though the boy continues to scream his demands. 

"My friends are coming! Get away from me or I'll kill you! They'll kill you!" 

Kyle goes to where Carl had laid out his clothes to dry and grabs the kid's shirt. He then runs back to the kicking and screaming boy, careful not to get clipped by his foot. He kneels down at Carl's side, at the same time picking up the knife he had dropped and tossing out of reach. "Listen to me. I am here to help. The man and woman are dead. I shot them." 

Through his panic, Carl absorbs the stranger's words, but not before recognizing that whoever was speaking to him couldn't be much more than a teenager, most likely younger. A kid like himself. "Don't touch me! Go away!" 

Kyle ignores him. "Take your hands away from your face. We need to stop the bleeding. I have your shirt and we are going to use that, put pressure on where ever you're hit." 

Carl stops kicking and writhing about. He now begins to whimper in pain. Through his stifled sobs: "I can't see!" 

Dread grabs Kyle by the stomach and pulls. He didn't realize the kid had been shot and now he questions his own actions. Could one of his rounds accidentally hit the boy? He didn't think so. Maybe the woman shot him with her shotgun and he had been to intent of lining up his second shot. He reaches down and grabs Carl's wrists and slowly pries the palms of his hands away. He immediately realizes what had happened. 

When Dwayne fired his pistol, he had shot at Carl's feet. When the lead bullet hit stone a chip had flown up in a ricochet and struck the boy in the face. Two chips of stone actually. One had cut across the boy's forehead, just above his right eye, the second was actually still lodged in his left eye. The reason Carl couldn't see out of his left was obvious the right eye was covered in blood from the seeping wound at his brow. 

"Be still!" Kyle commanded. Carl did his best to hold position. Using the still damp shirt, Kyle goes about the process of wiping the blood from Carl's uninjured eye. "You are not blind. It's only blood. You got a pretty nasty cut above your right eye, but it's not serious. Can you see me?" 

Carl becomes only slightly less terrified. He can see, he is not completely blind, but he knows there is substantial damage to his other eye. He is also able to confirm his suspicions. His rescuer is in fact another kid, a boy who can't be but a year older than himself. If he is telling the truth and really did kill the Dwayne and Angel, he must not have been with them. In the back of his mind he wonders where the boy came from. 

"My friends are on the way. They will be able to help you. We have a medic who is going to be able to fix you up. 

"I'm naked," Carl blurts out stating the obvious. Regardless of the pain and how scared he is, modesty now demands satisfaction. 

"Yeah, I know," Kyle said. "Don't sweat it man. You aint got nothing I haven't see before, mostly on me. Once I cover your left eye I'll get your clothes. By the time they get here you'll be good. Okay? 

Relief seeps over Carl's entire body like a warm blanket. He doesn't answer, but tries to nod his head. 

The radio breaks the momentary silence. This time it is a male voice. In the background is a loud thrumming, a lage motor hard at work. "Ranger-1, Dragon. We are fifteen minutes out and cutting wind. Will come in hot. You have a prospect?" Over. 

Kyle grabs the black radio mic and keys it twice. "Affirm. A thirteen year-old boy. Alone. He has in injury to his eye." 

Carl feels the need to set the record straight. "I'm fourteen." 

Kyle smiles and keys the mic again. "Correction, fourteen." 

The female voice is back. Apparently there is more than one radio on the net. "Are you sure he's a boy?" Olive asks with a slight challenge of humor. 

If only you knew the situation Kyle thinks to himself, more than a little embarrassed for both himself and the kid lying naked on the ground.. "Yes, I am sure he's a boy." He gets up and moves to the rocks picking up all of Carl's clothing, socks and shoes. 

The male voce: "Ranger-1, Dragon. Is the eye injury a bite?" 

"Negative Dragon. Bullet ricochet hit him." 

A short pause then: "Did you fire at him?" 

"Also negative Dragon. Prospect was cornered by two hostiles and they shot at him to scare him. I didn't know that at the time and couldn't wait. I had to take them out. They were alone. At least I think they were. No other bogies in sight." 

"We copy. We'll be on-site in ten." 

A third voice joins the conversation, this one is another female though because she too is speaking over the engine thrum, she must be a part of the rescue team. 

"How bad is he bleeding?" 

Kyle is in the process of getting Carl dressed. He thinks about how different this is from dressing his own kid, a girl barely a year old. "There is more blood from the cut on his forehead than the injured eye." 

"Roger that. Is he conscious?" 

"Affirm. He is awake, coherent, and doesn't appear to be in shock." 

The female voice pauses for a moment then: "Keep him prone, hydrated and talking. Keep the wounds covered but do not apply direct pressure." 

Needing both hands at this point, Kyle doesn't bother to say anything, instead he keys the microphone twice. Now that Carl has his underwear back on both boys are more comfortable and Kyle can slow down somewhat. In a way he is glad Dragon was further out. It would have been horrible to try and explain why the kid was butt-ass naked when they arrived. Minutes later Carl is fully dressed including his socks and shoes. 

"Thank you," Carl says in little more than a whisper. He is looking up at Kyle with his good eye, trying to figure out why a kid like him is even here. And who were the voices on the radio? Why were they... 

Suddenly the quiet of the afternoon is interrupted by a loud whomping sound. Carl's relief is short lived as panic sets in. Something is terribly wrong. It sounded like all of the conveyor belts or some giant machine inside the plant has come to life. Kyle sees the fear etched into the other boy's face. 

Kyle points off into the distance. "No worries man. That's Dragon. It's all good now." 

More than a little confused Carl turns his head slowly to look where Kyle is pointing. He couldn't have been more surprised. There, off in the distant sky is a very big and very loud military style helicopter cutting hard and fast through the breeze.. 

Kyle smiles as he watches Car's reaction of disbelief and wonder. "A fuckin' Dragon!" 

**FADE.**


End file.
